In my Arms
by sphinx01
Summary: Sequel to my oneshot "Loyalty". Someone has to take care of Prowl, and Jazz is just the mech.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: I intended to have this finished until the 24th as a little Christmas present, but it didn't work out quite as planned. I hope to get the rest up until New Year's Eve. So here's part one to keep you warm until then :-)

Warning: Pure smut, mixed with some soppy fluff for good measure. I couldn't help it, my muse insisted. Consider yourself warned. This is not beta'd, so, as always, if you spot any mistakes, please tell me and they will be fixed.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Transformers, and I do not make any money with this.

**

* * *

****In my Arms**

**Part One**

--*--

Prowl was standing outside the door to Jazz' quarters and simply couldn't bring himself to activate the door chime.

He didn't understand it, really. This would not be the first time they spent a night cycle together, and he wasn't _intruding_ on his friend or something, either; Jazz had clearly invited him. And yet, after being so eager to get here, he suddenly felt strangely shy in a way that just made it impossible to lift his hand and press the damn chime button.

It had been so long since the last time… They'd still been on Cybertron at that point, and so much had changed since then - _they_ had changed since then. Quite literally so; when Teletraan-1 had woken them from their long stasis lock, he'd had to slightly alter their bodies to fit the terran alt modes he'd chosen for them. They were practically two different mechs since then; if they interfaced now, it would more or less be a first time.

Prowl did not like first times. They required improvising, and always carried the possibility of failure. Improvising had never been his strong point, and failure was something he just couldn't accept.

His musing was interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming down the corridor. Prowl cast a quick glance over his shoulders. It would not do for a senior officer, he decided, to be caught loitering in the hallways, staring at another mech's door like a dumbfounded sparkling.

He took a resolute step forward and activated the door chime. Almost immediately, Jazz' melodious voice answered with a cordial "Come in!" The door slid open, and Prowl stepped inside.

--*--

The room was only dimly lit, forcing Prowl's optics to adjust to the sudden change of illumination. They did so rather sluggishly, which reminded him of the fact that he was still quite fuel- and recharge-deprived. However, the sight that greeted him when his optic sensors finally came to terms with the new lighting conditions quickly diverted his attention to other, more enjoyable things.

Jazz was lying on the berth, propped up on one elbow, a data pad in his free hand. The soft light gently caressed the outline of his chassis, making the white parts of his armor plating glow brightly and the black parts gleam mysteriously, and both colors were beautifully contrasted by the deep blue of his visor. He looked up when Prowl entered, and gave him a fond smile.

"Wow," he commented. "Did you fly here?"

Prowl smiled in return. "It would have been impolite to keep you waiting after I stood you up once already," he replied softly.

Jazz sat up and put the data pad aside. "Well, why don't you sit down, then, and have a drink with me - just for the sake of politeness, of course," he teased.

Prowl wandered over to sit on the berth while he watched his friend retrieving two energon cubes from the dispenser - one of the privileges that came with Jazz' rank. He would have liked to sit on the chair rather than on the berth, actually, but Jazz had chosen this particular piece of furniture to pile his impressive collection of sound carriers on - or at least part of it, Prowl thought amusedly.

Suddenly he realized the soft music playing in the background. He hadn't paid it any heed upon his entry, for Jazz' quarters without music was a contradiction in terms. But now it caught his attention because the tune playing was so very un-Jazz-like. It was Earth music of the kind the humans called classical, interpreted by only two instruments - a flute and a harp, as a quick research confirmed. A very uncommon selection, considering Jazz' normal taste, but Prowl found that he rather liked it. The music was calm and soothing and discreet, and he felt himself relax a little bit.

Jazz sat down beside him and handed him an energon cube. "You like?" he asked, indicating the air with a small movement of his head. "Carly recommended this to me. It's not really my type of music, but I thought it might... establish the mood."

Prowl felt his circuits warm up a little at these words. "It's nice," he said. "Although I doubt Carly recommended it for _that_ purpose."

Jazz laughed. "Spoilsport."

"Don't worry, I won't tell her." Prowl lifted his cube a little, and Jazz returned the gesture. His blue visor held Prowl's gaze firmly, not even once leaving his optics. "Cheers," he whispered, smiling.

For some reason, Prowl felt slightly unnerved by his friend's intense scrutiny. How on Cybertron could Jazz be so calm and confident when he himself had a thousand different thoughts and questions whirling around in his processor?

To distract himself, he lifted the cube to his mouth and took a hearty draught.

It felt as if pure light was seeping into his body. A wonderful warmth spread through him, suffusing all his circuits and tingling along each little wire like the touch of Primus himself. He had to set the cube down and cycle two, three heavy intakes of air through his vents.

Jazz watched him with a look of amusement on his faceplates. "Good?"

Prowl nodded automatically, still feeling somewhat lightheaded. "Very." He regarded the cube suspiciously. "Sideswipe's home brew, I guess?"

Jazz shook his head. "Uh-uh. Just the normal ration."

Prowl stared at him. "You're kidding." He had to be; this stuff was excellent, close to high grade even. How could this magical elixir be ordinary mid grade?

The look on Jazz' face shifted from amused to slightly worried. "Prowl, when was the last time you refueled?"

Prowl accessed his recent memory files and actually had to do a search run for the required information. "I think I had a sip or two yesterday," he answered sheepishly and felt a surge of hot embarrassment pulse through his spark as he realized the implication of his own words. Primus, this was humiliating. He tried desperately to control the erratic twitching of his door wings that gave away his nervousness, only subtly so, but a clear sign for anybody who knew what to look out for.

If Jazz noticed it, he had the decency not to press the matter further. Instead he leaned back against the wall behind the berth and softly patted the place next to him with his free hand. "C'mon," he said. "Sit with me."

Prowl obliged, carefully adjusting his door wings so as not to hurt himself. Jazz smiled at him encouragingly, and for a while they simply sat in companionable silence, listening to the soft music and occasionally sipping their energon. Prowl felt the twitching subside gradually as he savored the sensation of the purple liquid bringing his sluggish systems back to live.

Jazz was quicker to finish his ration and dispersed the empty cube before turning to his friend. "Feel better?" he asked with a soft smile.

Prowl drank the last mouthful and put the empty cube aside. "Yes," he answered, though he had the distinct impression that Jazz was not talking about the energon. "Thank you."

"Aw, don't mention it. I told you to drop by, remember?"

Prowl wondered idly how the saboteur had managed to suddenly get this close to him. He could feel the warmth that radiated from his friend's chassis, and the sensation was very soothing in its familiarity. Jazz' energy field brushed against his own softly, teasingly, a playful request, and he happily granted it, answering with a gentle push of his own. He felt Jazz' arm slip discreetly around his waist as his friend leaned on his shoulder and let their energy fields mingle and blend into each other slowly. Their individual signatures took a moment to fully align, but when they did, it felt like the most natural thing in the universe. Prowl inwardly shook his head at himself. Why had he been so reluctant? This was good, and sweet, and enjoyable, and Primus almighty, he _wanted_ it, and Jazz was obviously willing to give him what he wanted.

He turned slightly to lean further into the half-embrace, pressing his face into Jazz' neck and lightly tracing a cable with his nose. Jazz gave an appreciative hum in response and wrapped his free arm around Prowl's shoulders, while his other hand sneaked up Prowl's back and eventually came to rest at the junction of his door wings, a rather sensitive spot, but Prowl thoroughly enjoyed the light caresses that were clearly meant to soothe and relax rather than to arouse. Apparently his friend was in no hurry, and he happily adjusted to the slow pace, leaning his head against Jazz' shoulder and stroking the small of his back gently. This, too, was a familiar pattern; they'd always liked to take their time, to establish a mood where interfacing was more an option than a necessity. It seemed that this was what Jazz had in mind, and Prowl had no objection whatsoever.

The mutual touching continued. Prowl felt his core temperature climbing slowly but steadily, and could tell that the same was happening to his friend. Nevertheless, he noticed quickly that Jazz had a streak of curiosity on him tonight. The saboteur was deliberately seeking out all the places of Prowl's chassis that had been altered in Teletraan-1's reformatting, obviously trying to make himself familiar with the unknown. He did so very tenderly, but still Prowl did not feel overly comfortable with this kind of exploration. He could not tell exactly how his body would react to a particular touch, and this made him uneasy, not to mention the fact that he was unsure how to respond. Was Jazz expecting him to do the same? Or should he better stick to his own tried and true methods? He just didn't know, and his door wings were twitching again.

Maybe Jazz had noticed the tiny movement, or perhaps he sensed a disturbance in Prowl's energy field. Whatever it was, he promptly abandoned his task and raised his head to look at his friend. "What's wrong? Wanna stop?"

"No, no." He shook his head quickly, almost an instinctive gesture. "It's just -"

No, he would not tell him. He would not ruin this by telling him that he was straining his processor over something that so obviously didn't bother Jazz. His friend had already been patient enough with him tonight.

"It has been quite a while," he said.

A mischievous glint became visible in Jazz' visor. "Yeah. It's high time, if you ask me."

Prowl had to laugh in spite of himself, but quickly fell silent again at what Jazz did next: He took Prowl's hands in his, interlacing their fingers, and started to gently guide them across his body. "Here," he said softly, pressing Prowl's fingers against the underside of what would be his bumper in his alt mode. "Remember this?"

Oh yes, he did. His fingers found the rhythm easily, and the sound of Jazz' hitching intakes nearly drowned out the soft whirr of both their cooling fans springing to life almost simultaneously. It still felt a bit awkward to have his friend directing him like this, but he took the opportunity to analyze the pattern of movement Jazz was employing, and this information finally gave him something to base a strategy on - and nobody was better at mapping out and pursuing strategies than Prowl.

Confidence running high suddenly, he indulged his friend whole-heartedly, laying him gently down on his back and settling himself comfortably on top of him, as close as their different build types would allow it. Not long and Jazz' hands abandoned his, leaving them to roam freely, and Prowl happily put his strategy into action, stroking and caressing, mouthing and teasing tenderly, and all the while he made sure to send warm, steady pulses through his energy field, wrapping his friend in a cozy blanket of affection.

Jazz' core temperature had reached the point of a comfortable heat. His vents were cycling hard, his visor shining a bright azure blue, and his engine gave short, gentle revs at each new touch. But what delighted Prowl the most were the _sounds_. Personally, he was not the kind of mech to be overly vocal in the berth, but he'd always enjoyed the way Jazz gave voice to his pleasure when they were together like this. Not that he was loud, no, definitely not. But every touch would coax forth a rapt little sigh, a low moan, a longing keen or, occasionally, a whispered plea or endearment. Oh, how he loved to hear his name spoken like this...

"That good?" he whispered into Jazz' audio receptor as he leaned close to nibble at a neck cable. A little static had crept into his vocalizer, he realized, and he felt an unexpected – and not overly pleasant - surge of light-headedness as he leaned forward, but he did not care about either. Jazz turned his head to look at him, and his hands came up to caress the insides of Prowl's door wings. "Hmm...," he murmured, smiling. "I missed this." His arms wound around Prowl's neck and pulled him closer so that their foreheads were touching. "Missed _you_..."

A heady mix of pleasure and longing rushed through Prowl's spark at these words, and he heard Jazz moan softly when the sensation extended into their combined energy fields. He knew from experience that he could overload his friend like this if he wanted to; with his hands and his field flares alone, but he would not do it. Jazz had gone through quite some trouble with him tonight; had kept him from frying his processor, had shared his energon ration with him, had been kind enough to forgive him his forgetting their earlier appointment, had even invited him into his berth... the least Prowl owed him now was a decent interface. He knew quite well how to clear his debts; he would not fob his friend off with half-measures.

Slowly, tenderly, he began his exploration, seeking out those places on Jazz' body that would allow for a physical connection between them. Most Cybertronians possessed several of those; ports and sockets that allowed them to link with all kinds of external systems - or with another Cybertronian, if desired. Depending on the build type, these places could be anywhere on a mech's body, but if memory served him right, one of Jazz' ports should be right... here.

The saboteur's engine gave an excited rev when Prowl's fingers traced the cover panel and then gently opened it to expose the port beneath. He watched his friend closely as he did so; no matter how much he wanted this, if Jazz gave him the slightest sign of discomfort or unwillingness, he would stop.

Jazz was smiling at him tenderly. It was _this_ smile, Prowl realized, the one that had broken the spell back in his office, the one that he knew belonged to _him_, and only to him. A shudder passed through his frame as his friend plunged his energy field into his own eagerly, an invitation that couldn't have been clearer, and yet he had to ask.

"Is this alright?"

A twinge of impatience weaved its way into Jazz' field signature. "Slag it, Prowl," he whispered, his smile taking on a hint of naughtiness. "Jack in already."

Prowl's fingers shook slightly as he desperately fumbled for one of his connection cables, one that would fit. Holy Primus, but why did he have so slagging _many_ of those things? But finally he found what he was looking for, Jazz' hand curled around his, and together they guided the plug home.

--*--

A contented, almost relieved-sounding sigh escaped Jazz' vocalizer when the connection snapped into place. There was no energy flow, no data transmission yet, but the slight electric tingle that teased both plug and port was enough to nearly drive Prowl crazy. He had to prop himself up on both hands and bring some physical distance between them to regain control. "Primus almighty and all his avatars," he murmured.

Jazz laughed at this, albeit rather shakily. He snaked his arms around Prowl's mid section and rested his hands on his door wings, pulling him back down gently. He had started to lower his firewalls, Prowl registered; slowly, sensuously, one by one, until his very core was laid bare. Prowl dared to sneak a glance upward, and found Jazz' visor practically burning.

"Be in me, Prowl," he whispered, voice heavy with static. "Please, I wanna feel you."

If the complete Decepticon army, led by Megatron himself, had blasted their way into the room at this moment, Prowl couldn't have cared any less. He plunged himself into Jazz' core processor, latching on to the data streams and memory files that were offered to him, and concomitantly initiated an energy transmission that sent a hot, prickling sensation through both their bodies. Jazz keened longingly, his fingers digging sharply into Prowl's back, wordlessly urging him to go further, deeper...

Something popped up in Prowl's HUD suddenly, together with another surge of dizziness, but among all the wonderful sensations that were assaulting his sensors he barely registered it. A line of Cybertronian glyphs was blinking irritatingly in his field of vision, and he briefly read something about critical energy levels... holy Cybertron, he had no time for such nonsense now! He erased the message.

Jazz was moaning and writhing and undulating so beautifully beneath him, his energy field pulsing hard and fast as images and emotions kept streaming back and forth between them, pulling them ever deeper into each other, and Prowl knew that his friend was close, so close, but still he wanted to give him _more_.

He felt his way up Jazz' side and quickly reached his destination: another cover panel, hot with excess energy, that clicked open willingly at his touch. The saboteur's intakes hitched at the sound and he stilled his movements, staring in disbelief. "Woah, man, are you gonna -"

Prowl plugged a second cable into him without further ado and started another energy transmission.

Jazz reared up underneath him with a strangled cry, but Prowl knew this sound much too well to mistake it for an utterance of denial. His friend's visor was flickering in a telltale fashion, his movements becoming short and erratic, and he knew it wouldn't take much now, just a few astroseconds longer, only some energy pulses more...

The world began to spin violently around him without warning, so much so that he had to grip the edge of the berth to keep from collapsing. His HUD was suddenly red with warning lights.

"Prowl? What's wrong?"

His body went limp all of a sudden, his arms and legs feeling as if they'd turned liquid. He was dimly aware that his head fell onto Jazz' chest plates with a clang, and felt hands gripping his shoulders, shaking him.

"Hey, buddy, talk to me! You're okay?"

He tried to speak, but his vocalizer wouldn't obey him. His vision flickered, and the warning lights were replaced by a new message: _'Energy levels critical. Temporary system shutdown initialized'_.

No, no, he didn't have time for this. They'd been so close; he couldn't stop now, couldn't disturb Jazz' pleasure...

"Prowl, you're still there? Prowl!"

His world went black.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: So many of you have alerted this story, and I typed like a madwoman to not keep you waiting too long. So here comes part two. Hope you enjoy it :-) As always, if you find any mistakes, please let me know.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Transformers, and I do not make any money with this.

* * *

**Part Two**

--*--

_'System reboot complete. Warning: Energy levels critical. Energy reserve: 38%.'_

Ever so slowly, his senses started to return to him. His whole body felt like slag, and that annoying, headache-like sensation in his CPU had seemingly decided to revisit. He groaned in distress as he tried to online his optics. His systems responded only reluctantly, but finally, his vision cleared.

He found himself tucked safely into Jazz' side, nestled comfortably close to his friend's warm chassis. The connection cables had been removed, but their energy fields were still aligned, though no longer intermingled. Jazz had wrapped both arms around him, holding him close and gently stroking one of his neck cables. Prowl realized that his head was resting on his friend's chest plates, where he could feel the warm, steady pulse of his spark.

With a major effort, he managed to lift his head.

Jazz was looking down at him with tender concern in his blue visor. "You come back to me, sweetspark?" A gentle finger traveled down Prowl's faceplates. "Ah, yes, there you are."

Prowl leaned into the soft touch unconsciously as he tried to access his most recent memory files, but the data he found there was not exactly what one would call accurate. "What happened?" He barely recognized his own voice with all that static clouding his vocalizer.

"You blacked out," Jazz replied. "Right in my arms. Gave me a pretty good scare."

The horror of this information dawned only slowly on Prowl's sluggish processor, but dawn it did. For a short, frantic moment he indulged himself in the desperate fantasy of a big hole opening up beneath him and just swallowing him whole. But of course, this was a vain hope.

Some sort of flight instinct seemed to kick in at this realization, and he started to scramble hectically, trying to get up, to get out, away, anything. He'd made enough of a fool of himself for one night; the last thing he wanted was to be present when Jazz finally lost his undoubtedly carefully maintained control and started to laugh his aft off at him. The only strategy he could think of to handle _this _was a quick fallback.

But Jazz tightened his embrace as soon as Prowl started to move. "Don't," he said. "You're still all shaky, don't get up yet."

There was no way Prowl could have fought him in his current state, and he knew it. Defeated, he let himself sink back down and accepted his fate as a renowned officer should, offlining his optics and waiting calmly, albeit miserably, for the laughter to start.

But Jazz did not laugh. He just settled himself a bit more firmly against Prowl and resumed his soft caresses. Prowl noticed that his friend had turned off the music, so the only sound in the room was the low rumbling of both their engines. Combined with the gentle stroking and the warmth of Jazz' body that radiated into his, it was actually quite soothing, and after some time, Prowl could feel the rapid pulsing of his spark subside - undoubtedly aided by the fact that Jazz was still not laughing. But even so, the humiliation still stung too much for him to really relax. He was just glad that his friend had not commed Ratchet to look at him: 'Okay, what happened here?' - 'I don't know; we were interfacing and he just passed out cold.' He was pretty sure that he wouldn't have lived through _that_.

Finally, the jelly-like feeling in his limbs began to fade, and he carefully pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. Jazz let him, and followed the movement into a sitting position. "Feel better?"

Prowl could not bring himself to look at his friend. "Yes," he said, pretending to look his chassis over for any damage. "Thank you."

"You really scared me," Jazz said." I was so close to calling Ratchet," he indicated a small distance with his thumb and forefinger, "but you seemed okay 'cept for the energy drain, and I figured you wouldn't want an audience here."

"Yes," he repeated, feverishly trying to work out a plan that would allow both of them to walk out of this with some dignity left. "Thank you."

An awkward silence stretched between them. Perhaps it would be best to simply get up and leave.

He was about to do just that when Jazz rested a tentative hand on his shoulder. "Listen, Prowl, I'm sorry..."

Prowl took the time to bolster up some firewalls before he started to actually process this new information. In his current condition, a crash of his logic center would surely not be very beneficial to his health. Why on Cybertron was _Jazz_ apologizing to _him_?

"I knew you were pretty wiped out; I shouldn't have talked you into this. But you said yourself, it's been so long, and I just wanted... I'm sorry, buddy, please, don't be mad at me."

"Holy Cybertron, Jazz," he blurted out. "You did not talk me into anything; I wanted it."

Oh dear. He had not meant to say that, not like this, at least, and felt a slight embarrassment creep into his circuits when his optics finally met Jazz' visor. "I think I just got a bit... overzealous," he finished lamely.

The saboteur's lips curled into a small smile. "I rather liked it," he admitted, and Prowl couldn't help but smile back in relief. "I owed you something, after all," he said.

"Owed me?"

"Well, yes... You have been so kind all evening, even after I forgot this joy ride we planned. I figured the least I could do was to ensure that you enjoyed yourself."

Jazz frowned. "And since when do we make a competition out of interfacing?"

Prowl stared at him, speechless. All his worries, all his questions and concerns, wrapped up in one sentence and invalidated in less than a dozen words. Good old Jazz.

"It seemed like the thing to do," he replied defensively.

"Prowl," Jazz said slowly and took Prowl's hands in his, visor twinkling with barely concealed mirth. "Prowl, I'm gonna say this as your friend now: You're a glitch-headed idiot."

"Yes," he murmured, crestfallen. "I guess I am."

"Honestly, man, we've been friends for... I don't know, but you should know me better than that. If all I'd wanted was an overload, I could have fragged myself."

Prowl flinched a little. The casual language Jazz employed still managed to undo him sometimes. "I wanted it to be perfect for you," he said softly.

Jazz grinned. "Ever 'Mister Perfect', huh?" But then the grin vanished from his faceplates as quickly as it had come, and he squeezed Prowl's hands just a little bit tighter. "You know it's always special, Prowl," he said warmly. "No matter if we 'face each other senseless or if we just cuddle up a bit... it's special and it's perfect 'cause it's _you_."

Prowl sat quietly for a while and let the words sink in, let them warm his spark and soothe his anxiety. Jazz knew how to make a mech feel better; he had to hand that to his friend. Had anyone ever told him 'You are the best' in such sweet words?

"Anyway," Jazz continued, and suddenly the laughter was back in his voice, "I don't remember any of my berth mates ever frying their processor just to give me an overload. Now that's what I call devotion!"

Prowl had lifted his hand and tried to smack the saboteur on the head before he even knew it. Jazz dodged him with a laugh. "You are incorrigible," Prowl told him, trying - and failing miserably - to sound angry as Jazz slid off the berth giggling.

"Aw, now you really showed me what's what," he teased, and Prowl racked his still sluggish CPU for a suitable answer when Jazz returned and offered him a full energon cube. "Here, drink this. Don't want you to collapse on me again."

Prowl hesitated. He'd really appreciate another cube, but he'd already consumed a good part of Jazz' ration tonight...

"It's okay," Jazz said, pushing the cube into Prowl's reluctant hands gently. "I've had my share for today, you can take it."

Prowl's systems actually gave something like a small jump as the smell of the purple liquid reached his olfactory sensors, and he abandoned his resistance, knowing quite well it would be futile. "Thank you," he said as his friend settled down beside him, and received a warm smile in reply.

If possible, the energon tasted even better than it had before, and for a while he became so absorbed in the wonderful taste and smell he barely registered that Jazz had leaned over the edge of the berth and was rummaging around in the small nightstand next to it.

"Gotcha!" he said happily, sitting back up. Prowl saw a soft, ragged cloth in his one hand, and a small tin in his other. "You want me to give you a polishing?" he asked good-humored, glad that he seemingly could be of service after all.

"No," Jazz replied. "I want you to lie back and relax while _I_ give _you_ a polishing."

Prowl's good mood dropped considerably at this. "Jazz, really, you don't have to -"

"I know," Jazz interrupted. "But I want to." He opened the tin, placed it onto the nightstand and folded the cloth into a small square. "C'mon," he said, patting his thigh as if he wanted Prowl to sit in his lap. "Lemme spoil you a bit, huh?"

The thought was very tempting, Prowl had to admit that as he regarded his friend, kneeling on the berth and smiling encouragingly. It would be a favor among friends, no more, no less, and if Jazz was okay with it...

"Alright," he agreed. "If you insist..." He put the half-empty cube aside and edged a bit closer, making to lie on his front. It seemed logical to assume that Jazz would want him in this positi-

"No," he saboteur said. "Come here, lean on me."

The next moment, Prowl found himself on his back in a half lying, half sitting position, his head and shoulders supported by his friend's chest. He considered the position as a bit awkward, for, given their build types, it did not allow for as much physical contact as he would have liked, but Jazz seemed satisfied with the arrangements he'd made. "Okay," he announced softly as he dipped the neatly folded cloth into the tin. "Here we go."

The polish was an Earth product; Prowl recognized the smell of bees wax as Jazz started to gently rub the ointment-like substance into his shoulder plating. He had to maneuver around Prowl's door wings for that, but he seemed to manage fine. Where might he have gotten the polishing wax from? Perhaps Spike or Sparkplug had –

"You're still thinking," Jazz chided. "I can hear your processor rattling."

Prowl managed just in time to suppress a giggle. "My apologies," he teased instead, and received a playful tap on his nose with the polishing cloth in reply.

The wax quickly turned into a thin, oily film on his warm plating, creating a nice shine on the metal and making the cloth glide even more easily. Jazz slowly worked his way down Prowl's right arm, paid special attention to a transformation seam at the wrist, and then he took Prowl's hand in his and started to rub his fingers gently.

The soft touches instantly triggered recent memory files, pictures of the little scene back in his office, of light caresses and of the affection, the gratitude and, yes, the desire they had aroused. Pleasurable warmth suffused his circuits at the thought, and he savored the sensation, basking in it and smiling a little bit to himself. If Jazz wanted him relaxed, he just had to keep this up for a while...

His hand was placed back onto the berth gently as Jazz dipped the cloth into the tin again and switched sides. Prowl's left shoulder and arm received the same tender treatment as the right one, and so did his left hand. He was dimly aware that his optics had flickered offline all on their own as he let himself sink deeper into his friend's embrace. Ah, he loved this feeling, this slow, warm, gentle longing, sweetened even more by the knowledge the sensation was shared...

The soft click of his cooling fans activating brought him out of his reverie and his optics back online rather abruptly. His core temperature had risen again, and his circuits were tingling with a mild charge. Oh, this wasn't good; his energy reserves still weren't too stable, and the last thing he wanted was to pass out in Jazz' berth _twice_ in one night. Apart from the humiliation, emergency shutdowns were not a very healthy thing to do to one's processor, not to mention the fact that a second attempt at interfacing was clearly not what his friend had intended. He tried to sit up a little. "Jazz..."

"Shhh..." Jazz slung both arms around him tightly, holding him down. "I know," he breathed into Prowl's neck. "It's okay, sweetspark, just relax. Let it happen."

He had extended his energy field, Prowl realized in astonishment, had wrapped him into it so gently he had not even noticed. Now his friend had him in a cozy double embrace, carefully rubbing some more wax into his chassis and concomitantly sending slow, tender pulses of energy through his field signature.

A small, involuntary sigh came out of Prowl's vocalizer. It just felt so good, and he longed to share the sensation, sent a small amount of energy through his own field – and was surprised again. For instead of absorbing it, Jazz caught the little pulse in his field as if in a net, held it for a moment and then sent it back, twice intensified now by his own energy. Prowl shuddered and gasped softly at the unexpected sensation. "What are you – "

"If you don't shut up this instant," Jazz growled, "I swear I'm gonna short-circuit your vocalizer."

"You wouldn't dare."

The polishing cloth traveled down his chest plates slowly, mapping out his insignia while warm fingers first teased his grille and then stroked one of his headlights tenderly. "Try me," Jazz whispered.

Even if Prowl had wanted to, he was no longer in a state to try anything except for lying back and taking what was offered to him. Ever the improviser, Jazz had obviously come up with a way for them to enjoy some physical pleasure without risking to strain Prowl's depleted energy reserves too much: Instead of _exchanging_ energy, he seemingly had decided to share his own reserves; slowly, tenderly charging Prowl's systems with pulse after pulse of warm electricity. And, oh, it felt so wonderful, all that tingly heat streaming into his circuits in a slow, steady rhythm. It became a physical impossibility to hold back the small groans that were spilling from his vocalizer, for Jazz had not neglected his polishing duties and was now shamelessly exploiting every hot spot he could find. His free hand crept back up slowly to caress the edge of one of Prowl's door wings for a moment before he started to gently draw invisible patterns onto the smooth surface with two fingers.

Oh, holy Primus, this was too much. Prowl's one hand gripped the edge of the berth tightly while the other reached up and behind, seeking purchase and eventually taking hold of Jazz' shoulder as he arched into the skilled touches.

"That's it," Jazz murmured. "Just let go, let me do the work."

Prowl did not like the word 'work' in this context, but he couldn't find it in himself to protest in view of the unreserved tenderness that was bestowed on him. So warm, so good... He felt all his circuits tingle as they greedily absorbed each pulse of energy his friend sent him, slowly but relentlessly pushing him to a point where nothing mattered anymore but the pleasure. He couldn't lie still any longer; his body reacted on its own, gently writhing and undulating to meet every touch, to make sure not to miss even the slightest caress...

Jazz leaned a bit closer to stroke the cloth over Prowl's hip plating tenderly, and as he did so, Prowl could feel the heat pouring off his friend's chassis, could hear and sense the staccato revving of his engine and the prickling electricity that had charged his field signature. Poor Jazz was getting quite worked up himself, it seemed... he might not be taking any energy from Prowl, but all of Prowl's emotions, all those feelings and thoughts and sensations, were vibrating through his energy field, and – consequently – into Jazz', too. And still, the saboteur managed to somehow keep them on the edge, in a state where there were no expectations, no pressure, no striving or struggling to reach the finish line. All Prowl wanted at this moment was to bask in this wonderful, tender pleasure for the rest of his existence. His fingers stroked Jazz' neck softly as he turned his head as best as possible in his current position, nuzzling his face against his friend's throat.

"Jazz," he whispered. "Jazz, Jazz, Jazz..." Oh, how beautiful this name sounded. As long as his spark pulsed, he would never tire of speaking his friend's name like this...

His overload, when it finally came, nearly took him by surprise. It happened so gently and tenderly, like energon being poured into a full cube and softly flowing over the edge. He trembled and moaned and writhed, vents cycling hard to cool his heated systems as the resulting current of electric energy rushed into their combined fields. And this time Jazz took it, letting himself be pushed over the edge as well. Prowl felt him shudder and jerk, and then he gave a soft cry of surprise as the backlash of Jazz' overload streamed into his circuits and coaxed him into an unexpected second climax. His whole body quivered with the startling sensation, and Jazz was quick to react, sealing off his field frequencies and thereby creating some kind of force field so the released energy would not be dispersed, but had no choice but to slowly sink back into Prowl's systems.

He could not move any more, just lay trembling and dazed, and as the returning energy suffused his circuits in a strangely refreshing warmth, Prowl knew that he had never and would never in his life be more glad to have left a maintenance report unread.

--*--

"You know," Prowl said, "as beautiful as this was," he stroked one of Jazz' sensor horns fondly, "I'm in your debt at least five times now. How shall I ever make this up to you?"

They were lying stretched out on the berth, arms around each other, Jazz curled into Prowl's chassis as closely as possible. He laughed softly at the last words and leaned back a little to look up at his friend. "Aw, here we go again..."

He looked tired, Prowl thought. Happy, contented, satisfied – but tired. He felt a slight tinge of remorse as he thought of as to _why_ Jazz was so worn out, and why he himself was feeling so _awake_ right now. He checked his energy reserves briefly – 76 per cent.

"Come on, Jazz, there must be _something_ I can do for you."

Jazz looked uncharacteristically hesitant for a moment. "Well..."

"Yes?"

The saboteur shook his head. "No, that wouldn't be fair on the other guy... forget it."

"Just tell me."

A sheepish grin flashed over Jazz' faceplates. "Well, you see, I'm on early shift tomorrow... you might have noticed that I didn't get too much recharge tonight. And it's already past three in the morning, so... You couldn't perhaps find someone to... cover for me? Just this once," he added quickly.

It was such a touching request Prowl had to restrain himself not to crush his friend in his embrace. "Oh, now I found you out," he teased instead. "This whole night was a clever little special ops scheme of yours. Bribing a senior officer with sexual favors to get a day off, that is what you're after!"

Jazz' visor glinted mischievously as he took up the game. "Aw, frag it, and here I've been so close to nailing it."

"I could have you court-martialed for this, you know."

Jazz was giggling harder by the minute. "Oh please, Commander, mercy!"

"Begging won't help you now," Prowl said in the sternest voice he could manage. "Commander Jazz, I hereby place you under arrest in this berth."

"On what ground?"

"Seducing and overloading a superior officer."

"And twice, even," Jazz replied with barely contained laughter. "You are firm but fair."

Prowl pulled him a little bit deeper into his embrace, and Jazz came willingly, snuggling up to him like a trusting sparkling. It felt nice, Prowl thought, to hold him like this. "Just leave it to me," he said softly. "I will take care of it."

Jazz cycled a small sigh through his intakes. "Thanks." And then he raised his head again with a tender look in his visor. "Stay with me?"

The question was not completely without reason. As rare as their intimate encounters might be, they had always needed to be prepared for the possibility that they would not be able to spend a complete night cycle together. Mostly it was because of different shift rotations, or because one of them would be called to duty unexpectedly – not to mention impromptu Decepticon attacks.

But that had been back on Cybertron, and was not very likely to happen here, and Prowl had absolutely no intention to leave. "Of course," he said. "I arrested you. I have to make sure you don't get away."

This earned him a low chuckle as Jazz settled down again and started to slowly power down his systems. Prowl reached for the panel embedded into the nightstand to switch off the lights, but suddenly a thought popped up in his processor.

"I have to see Ironhide in the morning," he said hesitantly. "You know, because of those reports. I may not be here anymore when you wake up."

Jazz had already offlined his visor, but a tiny smile tugged at his lips at Prowl's words. "Ah, that's okay," he murmured. "I'll know where to look for you."

***Fin***


End file.
